


Mystery Spot

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Character Deaths, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Every single day in this world, you die, Castiel. It’s a bloody mess."</p><p>Castiel squints at him. “I die.”</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"…This bothers you?"</p><p>Crowley groans and marches on ahead.</p><p>--<br/>Alt. History - Loosely based on 03x11: "Mystery Spot." Takes place sometime after 10x03, but not spoiler heavy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mystery Spot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tumblr fic prompt:
> 
> _Do you still take prompts? How about Mystery Spot time for Crowley. Cas keeps dying at the end of the day and the day keeps repeating._
> 
> Such a great idea!

"Why did you summon me?"

Crowley sighs. 

He stands on the opposite side of the motel room. It is as bland as any motel room in the United States. Beige carpets, beige bed spread, beige curtains. Beige trench coat-wearing angel glaring at him, as he has glared countless times before. In this exact same motel room. On the exact same day.

Crowley's smile is bitter. “Maybe I missed that charming personality of yours, angel.”

Castiel frowns. “You know my grace is limited, Crowley.”

Yes, Crowley is aware. On more than one of these meetings, Castiel did not even get a word out. Showed up in a dead heap on the floor. 

"I’m trapped here," Crowley mutters. But he does not sound like a demon-king in danger. He sounds like a demon-king who is bored, bordering on pissed off. 

Castiel raises a brow. “You don’t look trapped,” he observes.

Next, he will glance around for demon warding... Ah yes, there he goes.

"Not that kind of trap," Crowley says. "The area is larger. I cannot leave this place. The rules of this world, whatever it is, won’t let me."

"You can’t leave this room?" Castiel looks around again. "I don’t sense any binding magic. Perhaps there is something in the walls-"

"No, no." Crowley rubs his brow with frustration. "Not this _room_ , Castiel. I can leave the room. It’s this world. I cannot leave this dimension, or whatever this cursed place is."

This is when Castiel will look concerned for him - ugh yes, there it is. “Are you…well, Crowley?”

"Shut up," Crowley grumbles.

On other days, Crowley has let himself bask in Castiel’s worry. He found it strangely comforting when Castiel asked after him. When does anyone ever worry for the King of Hell, after all?

But today, he is not in the mood. “I’m fine,” he says. “This is not about me, it’s about the world. This trap. I can’t crack it.”

Castiel still looks unsure, but something bids the angel to play along with him. Something always does.

"All right," he says. "Have you searched the room for hex bags? You said there is no warding magic."

"No hex bags," Crowley confirms. Naturally, his meddling mother was the first person Crowley suspected. But he has scoured everywhere for signs of spell work. The room, outside, his own clothing. Crowley even probed his own vessel, digging under his skin for any kind of witchcraft. Nothing.

"You said you’ve tried to leave the room?"

Crowley sighs, impatient with a conversation he has had so many times.

He goes to the motel door, twists the knob, and opens it to a sunny day. Crowley steps outside and stretches his arms for the angel’s inspection.

Castiel follows him, squinting in the sunlight. Crowley glances about nervously. But there is nothing large and heavy to fall on the angel’s head today. No ‘wrong place, wrong time’ gunshot wounds that Castiel’s grace cannot heal.

Today, Castiel is able to follow him down the sidewalk.

"Maybe it’s a Devil’s Trap, but larger," Castiel muses. "I remember hearing of the iron trap set by Samuel Colt. The railroad."

It’s an idea Crowley has considered, but he shakes his head. “A trap like that would bind me, yes. But the power would be so vast that I would feel it.” He looks down at the sidewalk cracks. “I feel nothing. My kingdom, my demons, Hell itself. I’ve been cut off from everything and everyone.”

Castiel considers this. “Maybe it’s not a ward, then,” he murmurs. “Maybe it’s a person.”

Crowley raises a brow. This is a new thought.

"I have been in the presence of beings so powerful that my own strength was neutralized. The Whore of Babylon, for instance. Or-"

"Watch it!" Crowley grabs the back of the angel’s trench coat. His grip stops Castiel from stepping into the street. A van zooms by without pause.

Castiel stiffens. “I have enough grace to heal myself-“

"No, you don’t," Crowley mutters. "Trust me." 

Castiel frowns, but he does not argue. With the road clear, they cross together. 

"Eve, as well," Castiel continues. "Even at full strength, she paralyzed me. I was human, essentially."

"Ah, our partner days," Crowley says, with a wistful sigh. The glare Castiel responds with is a treat. But Crowley does not gloat. "A creature, then. Something powerful enough to bind me."

"Yes. Do you have any enemies, Crowley?" Castiel’s eyes glint with amusement.

It is Crowley’s turn to glare. “Few with the strength to pull off such a ruse,” he replies.

The statement sounds like bravado, but it is true. Witchcraft has been ruled out, and the strongest demon threats to his throne are dead. Heaven is in shambles. Any angels strong enough to oppose him are caged or gone.

Crowley would not put betrayal past the Winchesters, but this ploy is too elaborate. And why make their favorite pet croak day after day? No, this is not Moose and Squirrel's doing.

Castiel pauses in front of The Morning Diner. He rests a hand over the menu hanging in the window.

Crowley grabs his arm and yanks him ahead. “No eating,” he says.

"What?"

"No. Eating." Crowley repeats, dragging Castiel along. "I don’t care if you miss the taste of PB&J or hamburgers. The eating deaths are the worst. The choking, the gagging, the blue face. Nauseating."

"The…eating deaths." Castiel stops in his tracks. "What are you talking about, Crowley?"

"The eating deaths," Crowley mutters. "As opposed to the stabbing deaths or the shooting deaths.  The heavy machinery deaths. And the deaths where you blow out your own grace for some stupid reason. Every single day in this world, you die, Castiel. It’s a bloody mess."

Castiel squints at him. “I die.”

"Yes."

"…This bothers you?"

Crowley groans and marches on ahead.

"That was an honest question!" Castiel calls, jogging to catch up with him.

"That was not an honest question," Crowley grouses. He keeps his back turned. "I just told you that I have watched you die hundreds of times. And your brilliant response is, ‘This bothers you?’ Moron."

Crowley is so caught up in the angel’s stupidity that he crashes into someone. The man stumbles back, eyes large with alarm. "Watch where you’re going!" Crowley snaps.

His anger fades quickly. This has never happened before. 

He also realizes that everything around them has stopped. Cars brake, mid-turn. Pedestrians pause, mid-step. Even Castiel is still, mouth frozen on an unfinished thought.

"I think you dropped this," the stranger says. He bends to retrieve a black pen and holds it out to Crowley.

Crowley narrows eyes at it with suspicion. It does look like one of his - sleek granite design with a ‘C’ engraved in gold along the side.

"Where did you come from?" Crowley demands. He snatches the pen and stuffs it into a jacket pocket.

Suddenly, everything lurches. The world seems to tilt, like the unsteady footing of a drunken man. A once sunny sky grays. Wind whips past them, howling and frigid.

Crowley squints at the stranger. “I know you,” he murmurs.

"Yes," the stranger replies. His voice is even, patient. "You do, King of Hell."

This is the prophet, isn’t it? The writer of those terrible Winchester gospels. The one who served Heaven, before Kevin Tran.

Only, it is not him. Is it.

"Crowley?"

Crowley has a hand on his chest, gasping for breath. It takes a moment to realize the grip on his shoulder belongs to Castiel. The angel is watching him with concern. Around them, everything is moving again. 

The stranger, however, is gone.

"Bollocks," Crowley wheezes. He is completely and utterly screwed.

"What happened?" Castiel asks. "There’s a bench this way. Come on." He leads Crowley around a corner, into the back lot of an old church.

Crowley realizes where they are too late. They have been here before.

A rogue angel group waits, trap set to perfection. Their eyes set on Crowley like a pack of hungry dogs. Grinning, they pull blades.

"Run," Crowley says. It is a command he knows won’t be followed. Fighting them does not work. Running does not work.

"Stop this," Castiel orders his kin. He stands in front of Crowley and pulls his angel blade. "Crowley is no threat here."

The pack does not listen. Castiel’s kind never listens when their mission is set. 

"Run!" Crowley demands again. He shoves Castiel out of the way. It is futile, he knows, but he still tries. 

A flash of light forces Crowley to shield his eyes. He hears screams and the sound of human flesh bubbling under intense heat.

When Crowley is able to look, he finds the scarred remains of his attackers on the ground. Blistered bodies. Blood everywhere. The black dust of burned wings.

Castiel wobbles on his feet. Crowley sees his eyes roll back seconds before he crumbles. 

It’s no use, of course. But Crowley still goes to him. He hooks a fist in Castiel's trench coat and gives him a shake. “Idiot!” he hisses.

Castiel smiles. “It’s all right,” he says. 

Then, he dies. He dies! Just like this! Moron!

"Why did you summon me?"

The motel room again, and Castiel’s disapproving look. Crowley scrubs his face with his hands.

***

Could this be Purgatory? It does not look anything like the wild forest of monsters. But where else would Crowley be sent for his punishment? Where would God choose to banish the King of Hell?

God. The name alone makes a cold sweat run down Crowley's back.

The angel finds more stupid ways to die.

He slips on wet tiles and cracks his head on a sink. Plummets from the motel roof during a search for demon warding. The fool even stabs himself with his own angel blade. Crowley insisted that he was doomed to repeat this day. Castiel wanted to prove him wrong.

He wanted to prove Crowley wrong…so he killed himself. Einstein, Castiel is not.

Crowley gets a desperate idea. This is his divine punishment, isn’t it? To relive this day over and over, with no control?

Crowley decides to take matters into his own hands.

"I believe it’s angels. This is why I summoned you, Cas," Crowley explains.

Castiel looks suspicious. But Crowley gains his trust with more details. A pack of four renegade angels have a hit out, Crowley says. They know Crowley is unable to return to the underworld and will strike while he is vulnerable.

Crowley leads Castiel to the spot of the attack. Only, it is not the real spot - the back yard of the church. He takes Castiel, instead, to an alley two buildings down. A place dark and abandoned.

Castiel leads the way. Knight in shining armor, the brave warrior of God.

Crowley stabs him in the back with an angel blade.

Castiel turns. Crowley reads hurt in his expression, the pain of betrayal. But Castiel is not surprised, Crowley realizes. Perhaps, he knew he was destined to die today. 

His human-blue eyes are swallowed by the glow of dying grace. Light fills his mouth. His head tips back seconds before his knees hit the ground.

Castiel falls into a pool of his own blood. His body twitches as the final whisper of grace spills from his lips.

Crowley kneels next to him. “I’m sorry,” he says. Crowley actually _is_ sorry. It is an awful realization. “I had to try. I had to!”

Castiel looks up at him. His mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Then, he goes still. Crowley takes Castiel’s hand between his.

His eyes snap up at a scuffle of sneakers. 

The stranger stands a few paces away. "No," he says. Then, he disappears.

The world rewinds.

***

"Why did you summon me?"

It will never stop, Crowley realizes. He will never leave this place. 

Crowley takes Castiel’s face between his hands. "Run," he says, shaking him violently.

Crowley’s actions are too out of character, too out of control. The angel’s concern flares. “What is it?” Castiel asks.

"You need to leave, Castiel," Crowley says. "Flee this place. Don’t come back."

"I don’t understand. Are you in danger?"

"I did not summon you." Crowley moves his hands to Castiel’s shoulders and gives him another forceful shake. "This is a trap," he hisses. "It’s _Hell_ , Castiel."

The angel smiles at the assumed joke. “You rule Hell,” he replies.

"No!" The grin fades from Castiel’s face. Crowley huffs with frustration. “This is not my Hell. This is…this is worse. Purgatory, maybe-“

"This is not Purgatory, Crowley."

"A lower level, then!" Crowley grits. "Not Hell, not Purgatory. Whatever is worse. This is the place where the darkest souls are locked, Castiel."

Punishment leveled by the One who creates all things. The One with infinite tortures and time... 

"There is no chance here," Crowley whispers. "No sunlight, no happiness."

Confused, Castiel looks out the motel room window. “It is sunny now,” he points out.

"It’s not real!" Crowley shouts. He shoves the angel and staggers back. "Get out. While you still can."

"Crowley, this is insane."

"It’s a trap, Castiel! Do you understand anything!?" Crowley pulls his blade. "Run!"

Castiel stares at him, perplexed. His own blade emerges from the right sleeve of his coat.

"No," he says.

Dread tightens in Crowley’s chest. He cannot explain this reaction. He has watched Castiel die countless times. So what if it happens again?

But this time, it feels different. This time, Crowley sees a small window to get Castiel out. His own cause is doomed, but there is hope for Castiel.

"Don’t be an idiot," Crowley argues. "I’m telling you to get out. So get out, now!"

"If something is coming, I will stay," Castiel replies. His voice is soft but settled.

Crowley barks a laugh. “There is no fighting this, angel. What’s coming is bigger than me. Bigger than you. Bigger than everything. Your Heaven, my Hell, the Apocalypse those boys stopped. This is bigger than everything that has ever been, or will ever be.”

He freezes when Castiel takes his hand. "Whatever it is, we will fight it, Crowley," Castiel tells him. 

Crowley gapes at him, then at their joined hands. 

A terrible idea clicks into place. 

"Why did you come when I summoned you?" Crowley asks. "I did not bind you with a spell. You had no obligation to come..."

Castiel squeezes Crowley’s hand, then lets it go. 

The window is suddenly filled with light. A high pitched whistle screams through the walls. The ceiling rattles, and the floors shake.

Crowley glances at Castiel. The angel’s eyes are on the window. His expression is awful. Resigned and calm. 

"I’m here, Crowley," Castiel says.

Crowley cannot see him anymore. The entire room is bright, burning. Crowley does not hear his own cry when his vessel splinters and bursts.

***

"Why did you summon me?"

The demon buries his face in his hands. He has done so before out of annoyance or frustration. This time, he does it to hide his tears. 

He is tired, so very tired of this. 

"Crowley." The angel sounds worried. Crowley cannot bring himself to care. "Are you hurt?" Castiel asks. Crowley shakes his head. 

Perhaps today’s death will be a fast one. Perhaps he will get a few minutes to rest before it starts all over again. _Rest_. The word purrs through him, an intoxicating taunt.

"You’re hurt," Castiel says. He is closer now. 

Castiel’s fingers close around his wrists, urging him to show his eyes. "My grace is strong enough," Castiel insists. "Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll-"

Crowley seizes Castiel’s hands tight enough to snap the bones of a weaker vessel. “I’m the King of Hell, you moron!” he hisses.

Castiel frowns at his outburst. “Yes,” he replies. “I’m aware of that.”

Crowley releases Castiel’s hands in favor of grabbing him by the trench coat. “I’m a demon. You’re an Angel of the bloody Lord. How could you be so stupid!?”

"Crowley," Castiel hesitates, "Are you…well?"

Crowley pulls Castiel forward and kisses him. Castiel stiffens under his lips. He gives Crowley a push and murmurs his name with confusion.

Crowley will have none of this. He wraps his arms around Castiel’s body. It is strong under his hands. He feasts on Castiel's lips like a starving man.

Castiel relaxes slowly, giving in with a sigh. How long has this relieved breath hidden inside him? Crowley does not want to know. 

The angel’s fingers settle in the small of Crowley’s back. Crowley shifts into his hands.

"You sod," Crowley murmurs. "What’s the matter with you?"

Castiel rests his forehead against Crowley’s hair. “It’s Fate,” he says.

Such a romantic phrase for humans. Fate. 

For angels and demons, the Fate sisters are a curse. Crowley hears the resignation in Castiel’s voice. It’s the same hopelessness Crowley feels, trapped in this never-ending cycle. Forced to watch this fool die again and again. 

Castiel stutters back from him suddenly. His eyes widen with alarm.  

"No," Crowley breathes. He’s not ready.

Crowley barely catches Castiel when he collapses. His knees hit the carpet, legs bent in awkward angles. Castiel’s eyes flash a dull blue, and light whispers behind his lips. His body spasms, and he cries out - pure, heart-tearing pain. 

Castiel claws for Crowley’s hand, which Crowley provides. The angel’s grip is dismally weak.

"You stupid bird," Crowley whispers. He should hate how thick his voice is. But he doesn’t care, not now.

Castiel struggles to smile. “It’s all right,” he says. “I…deserve…”

Then, Castiel is gone. He is gone, but the scene does not reset.

Crowley stares at Castiel’s dead body. His eyes are glazed like glass. 

"No," Crowley breathes.

This makes no sense! Why is Castiel still in his arms? The moron should be demanding to know why Crowley summoned him, like he has so many times before. 

Crowley shakes him once. And again, harder. Castiel does not move.

“You idiot!” Crowley shouts. Leave it to Castiel to get their punishment wrong! Leave it to the fool to actually die!

A rustle draws the demon’s glare. The stranger stands on the other side of he room.

Crowley gently places Castiel’s body on the ground. It isn’t him, Crowley knows. This is the vessel, the meat suit. But he still treats it with the reverence of an old friend. 

Blade in hand, Crowley stands. This is suicide, he knows. No chance of survival. But Crowley still screams and drives his dagger straight through the stranger’s chest.

It does nothing.

The stranger looks down at the knife in his skin. His mouth tilts at a corner. He is amused, perhaps. But the expression is too cold, too powerful for comprehension. 

He pulls the blade from his body and drops it to the carpet. There is no blood. 

Outside, thunder roars. A fierce rain pelts the window glass.

"King of Hell," the stranger muses. "It has a nice ring to it."

"Is Castiel in Heaven?"

The stranger smiles. “No.”

"Is he in Hell? In Purgatory?"

Another smile. “No.”

Crowley’s eyes blink to red. But his flare of power is short-lived. Something crackles inside him, scorching through his veins. 

Crowley staggers back. When he coughs, blood splatters on his lips. His red glare dims to its human shade.

The stranger tilts his head. "An angel is dead, King of Hell. You should celebrate. A victory banquet in the Great Hall of the kingdom that you stole.”

The kingdom that Crowley _stole_? Utter nonsense. Crowley acted against a murderer with Daddy issues. He saved his entire species!

Just like Heaven to look upon a demon as they always have. Just like this damned, single-minded God.

But Crowley does not care about Heaven, and he does not care about Lucifer. He, perhaps, cared for one thing. But that is dead now too.

The stranger has no other words. No demands, no explanations. He simply turns to leave. When he opens the door, lightning flashes through the room. Rain stabs sideways through the entrance.

"Wait," Crowley says. There is only one way to be free of this.

Crowley bends to retrieve his angel blade. Without a word, he offers it to the stranger. 

The weapon is taken from him. Crowley puts his hands behind his back and waits. 

“Where will you go, King of Hell?” the stranger asks.

Crowley does not know. Only one creature in existence knows the answer to that question. The one who asked. A final taunt, perhaps.

On instinct, Crowley looks at Castiel’s deceased body. The lifeless eyes of the vessel stare back at him.

"Very well," the stranger says.

He plunges the blade through Crowley’s chest. The King of Hell bursts in a crackle of fire. Darkness burns beneath his skin. 

Everything fades.

***

"Crowley." 

Daylight. A motel room. 

Crowley is on the floor. Castiel hovers over him. "It’s all right," Castiel murmurs, "Hold still."

Crowley realizes that the angel’s hands are hovering over his body. They are lit with the gentle blue glow of his grace.

Crowley shoves him away. Just this motion causes him to cough. There is blood in his mouth. Blood on his chest.

"Crowley, stop," Castiel says.

"Your grace," Crowley protests. The words come out as a wheeze.

It is warm when the angel rests fingers on his forehead. Crowley melts into the touch. Heaven’s light sews his broken body together, molecule by molecule.

"My grace is fine," Castiel assures him. "And I believe I owe you. Isn't that what you told me?"

As the pain eases, Crowley is able to observe the room more closely. It is a motel room, but it is different. Blue carpets, blue bed spread, blue curtains. "This is not the same place," he says.

"As what?" Castiel asks. "What happened? I found you like this."

Crowley frowns. “You found me?”

Castiel returns his confused look. “I followed your voice,” he explains. “You…screamed, Crowley. I’ve never heard a sound like that.”

Crowley does not know what to say. He looks around the room again for any threat or explanation. There is nothing.

He reaches up to Castiel’s cheek. Castiel stiffens.

"I don’t know if this is real," Crowley admits. His words, strangely, make Castiel relax. 

Castiel places his hand over the one on his face. "Is anything real?" he asks.

Crowley sits up enough to urge Castiel into his arms. The angel sinks against Crowley’s mended chest. Castiel’s lips cover his. Crowley smiles beneath them.

Maybe they are alive. Maybe they’re dead. At some point, Crowley will need to find out. But he does not care yet. 

For now, this is good enough.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you liked!
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) :)


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